Why Couldn't it Start With Hello?
by Blood Beast
Summary: DR slash. Ron comes to terms with his budding sexuality and subsequent life, both of which seem to involve Draco. Chapter update: Draco has entered the story.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Why Couldn't it Start With Hello?

Chapter 1?

Ron had to get out of the house. Absolutely had to. It wasn't that he didn't love his family- he did. He absolutely did, with all his heart. But that didn't mean his family wasn't driving him absolutely insane. He couldn't get a moment to himself, and he was finding that he desperately needed it. The time had come when he needed to find himself, and he couldn't. The loving, warm burrow had become increasingly stifling, where every room had a Weasley or two without him. Even his own room was no sanctuary, as he had found one particularly hot afternoon.

And in a wonderfully trite and hackneyed way of thinking, Ron would admit (later...much, much later) that the heat had nothing to do with the temperature.

Ron had pulled one of his most ragged possessions out from underneath his mattress. It was in worse shape than the mattress he had gotten from his grandparents, more dog-eared than any of his second- (and sometimes third-) hand textbooks. With a happy sigh, Ron gracefully flopped onto the bed, pushed the bangs out of his eyes, and prepared to spend the afternoon with the gorgeous, sexy men of his sister's stolen copy of Wizards of Sex (she was too young for that kind of vulgarity anyway). It wasn't the best copy he had ever written (and the title- it almost put Ron off reading it entirely) but the pictures! The glistening, lovely, perfect bodies of the most sexy men Ron had ever seen; flexing, winking, licking their lips and crawling across the page, muscles rippling as they pretended not to see Ron's eyes darting over their bodies. They didn't notice the tinge of pink around Ron's cheeks, or how full his lips got as his hand crept closer and closer to the raging erection just under those robes…

Usually, this is where Ron would watch the fireworks behind his eyelids, and be washed over with pure pleasure. But of course, happiness can't be achieved through pornography (all of the time) and his mother decided that even though Ron's door was shut, it was a good time to drop off his clean laundry. And that's when he was caught- his robes above his midriff, his stolen magazine with pictures of well built men garishly displayed all over the front, calling to Mrs. Weasley to come and play, hiding what, according to his mother, "should only be seen by your wife."

His mother completely blamed it on herself. She wailed and fell to the ground, lamenting in a wounded tone only a mother or dying animal could make, "It's my fault! I should have known better! It's all my fault, how you turned out like this!" And the hurt and pain quickly turned to anger, with her screaming, "How could you do this? Don't you know what this will do to us, to your family?"

And as the anger subsided, she whispered in a loving, scared voice, "We just care about you and your safety. Do you know what a hard life you're choosing?"

Yes, Ron absolutely had to get out of there.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Still have nothing.

The send-off was nothing like any of her other children's. When any other family member left, there was a huge party. At Bill's going away party everyone cried, though that could have been because Fred and George put onion gas in their converted muggle-air conditioner (They couldn't afford a WizAir, and Authur insisted this was just as good). But there was a party, and food, and family, and a general sense of goodwill. There was sadness, but everyone knew it was all a part of "A man's journey" (Ron hadn't really been listening to his father's speech) and they were all very, very happy for him.

When Ron left, no one knew. He stole away in the night, like some common criminal, some common HOMOSEXUAL criminal, while his mother and father lay awake talking about what they were going to do with him and his 'predicament'. Ron left a loving note on the table, trying to recall the speeches made earlier at his brother's leavings. He let them know he would be safe, and he left the number of his room at the Leaky Cauldron in case they wanted to check up on him for the first few days. They never came. Trying to get out and live his own life was tough enough with no support from his family, and it cut so deeply that they didn't seem to care. The Weasley's had always been a loving family, on that he knew some people envied. So how was it so hard to come to terms with something Ron was okay with?

But Ron had to push his brooding aside, which was not something he did well. But there were bigger issues at hand. Ron needed a job.

So every morning he would plaster a fake smile that tried to be sincere upon his face and set out, asking for rejection over and over again. One morning his attitude was so bad he tried to charm himself a newer, better attitude, but he ended up having to spend the day crumpled next to his bed in his rented room, doubled over in laughter. But it was pretty funny-here he was, the Ronald Weasley that he knew he would get to be someday. He had finally found something that set him apart from the rest of his family, different from the funny siblings, the cool one, the studious one, and the driven one. But his special mark had gotten him kicked out of the house! And the two people he knew he could count on he refused to ask for help- Harry, because that boy had enough to worry about without Ron weeping over his pathetic life, and Hermione was busy becoming the youngest Arithmency teacher in the history of Hogwarts. But the biggest reason was the one Ron wouldn't admit to himself- he was scared. It was probably just the charm taking effect, but for those few hours Ron laughed and chortled and giggled over himself and what he had gotten himself into harder than he had ever laughed at anything. And as masochistic as the laughter was, it felt good. It was needed, and it was something that he had sorely missed in his life over the past few weeks.

The next day Ron set out with an actual smile on his face, and got the job. He had found his niche. Ronald Weasley was the new (secretly gay) bartender at the Hogsmeade Inn. And it was a good job, one he took pride in. He heard stories, told his own, made up a few. He would watch people's emotions and demeanors change as they put good food, good drink in his belly. A few times, when he was in a bad mood because he had been thinking too much, he got to fight the drunkards he was told to take outside. They may not have been fair but they were fun, and they did so much to relieve stress. The Innkeeper loved him so much he was offered a small apartment above the bar, so he could work every night. Ron gladly accepted.

He even got to flirt, and he got very, very good at it. Of course, the Inn was a respectable place that you simply weren't gay in, so all his flirting was with females, but it's the same theory, he told himself as he polished off another newly-dry glass and set it about the bar. He loved the feel of clean glasses, freshly washed and warm. They were so smooth and radiated light heat, warming his whole body as the feeling spread through his palms to the tips of his toes. Ron hoped that skin during sex felt like that: he happily imagined it did. He felt a happy hum in his blood as a grin crept across his face and blood rushed from his head to his penis. His fingers lightly traced patterns around the stems of wineglasses, he shook his bangs out of his eyes with a toss of the head.

"Do you need that taken care of?"

With a gasp Ron dropped the glass, even more blood draining from his face. The glass broke and splintered around his feet, tiny shards catching the light, diffusing it and bathing one of the waitresses in rainbows. She smiled, her lipstick staying bright red and smooth even with the strain of her skin moving, just like it was bewitched to do.

She had been watching Ron for a while. He was one of the initial reasons why she got the job (it was him, and money. Not necessarily in that order.) She had walked in one night, cold, afraid and new, and he radiated warmth and familiarity. He was handsome in that boy nest door way, with a toothy grin, freckles at age twenty plus, and a lanky body with just enough muscle to make you want to look underneath the clothes. Her breath had caught the first moment she saw him- such a contrast to the cruel, outside world! He had no traces of the rain that was pouring outside; perhaps his fiery hair had burned it off. She could imagine a lot of things sizzling on his hot skin.

She promptly asked for an application and interview, and got the job (her huge breasts weren't the curse she thought they were back in primary school). She had been trying to get Ron alone for days, sending hints like leaning over the counter as she gave him drink orders, leaving a few top buttons undone on her shirt. Her face wasn't perfect but she knew she had a nice smile, one she sent over to Ron as often as possible.

She had even played the damsel in distress, letting one drunk customer get a little too friendly and grab a little too much before Ron came in, hauled the man off, and broke the man's lecherous fingers outside. She was sure Ron liked her, or else that amount of violence wouldn't have been necessary. (She didn't know that the day of that incident was the eight-month anniversary of his moving out, which meant 8 months without family or real friends.)

The ball was in her court. All she had to do was play the seduction game. So that night she put more make-up than usual on, donned her sexiest, tightest, shortest, and most revealing outfit and sauntered onto the bar after hours. She knew Ron would be either in the bar or his room, and she couldn't have been happier to find him the way he was. Sauntering up, she pressed her breasts against his chest nonchalantly and put her fingers through his hair. "I can give you a trim, if you want," she whispered in his ear, making sure to breathe more than usual. As one hand rummaged through his hair another was exploring his back, kneading the muscles that were so bunched up.

Ron was frozen. Trying to regain his composure, he stepped back, cleared his throat and laughed. "Scared me, you did. I jumped like a tiny girl, dropping and breaking a glass." He leaned down to cast a spell to fix it, and catch himself. It was just flirting. He could flirt. He did it all day, every day. It was as much a part of his job as pouring drinks. He could do it.

He looked up and his eyes traveled over sleek, shaven leg for far too long. Ron's mind gulped for him, and Ron prayed to God, Dumbledore, anyone that he would get out of this okay. The girl bent down, making sure to have her breasts pile out of her dress and into Ron's face, and picked up the glass. "Here, let me help you. We don't want your strong hands breaking it again." Ron laughed, more nervous than he had been while flirting with girls than he was back in his first few years at Hogwarts. There was a reason why he did it as little as possible back then. The same feelings were creeping back in- nervousness, a want to crawl somewhere and assume the fetal position, and the new uneasiness and slight disgust at the prospect. This wasn't flirting, flirting was fun, carefree, a simple nothing. This was something else entirely.

She saw the fear in his eyes and mistook it for fear of not controlling himself. She was sure there was lust mixed in there as well. Giving herself the extra burst she needed, she stood on her toes to put the glass back in it's cabinet. And then, making sure he was close to her, she pushed off, propelling herself into his open arms. With a gasp, they were on the ground, a tangle of bodies. Seizing the opportunity, she rolled on top of him, squished into him, and purred,

"I'm so clumsy." Ron gaped. He didn't know what to do, or think. In just a few minutes, or was it even seconds, the nice hum in his blood and the bounce in his step was replaced with disgust. Even if she wasn't a girl, it was so wrong to just throw yourself out there like that. She should at least have some dignity, enough common sense to know this type of behavior couldn't usually work on anyone. And as she flipped her hair back, making sure the feeble light caught the strands of luscious brown, she leaned in and captured his lips.

It was the worst kiss Ron had ever been through. She was sucking, pulling, pushing, all at the same time. As she bit his bottom lip and pulled back, Ron moaned in pain.

Hearing his moan, she knew he was enjoying himself. Looking down, ready to see blue eyes hazy with lust, ready to feel those lean hips grinding into her, she was surprised to see a look of pity on his face. And it hit her. He had just been standing there, laying there, allowing her to have her way until there was a moment to stop. And stop he did. Lightly pushing her body off him, Ron sat up and told her in a quiet voice,

"We need to talk."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer- I still own nothing.

Why Couldn't it Start With Hello? - chapter 3?

Then next day was one of the worst Ron had ever experienced. It was right up there with all the times he knew Harry was in peril but he couldn't do anything, it was right up there when he was ostracized from his home. First of all, the git Malfoy decided it was the perfect time to show his slimy face. Ron knew that he was being unreasonable. But Malfoy always brought that out in him, even after years of not hearing of the boy. And the previous night hadn't ended well at all- the girl had run crying, screaming "You fag! YOU FUCKING FAG!" into the night as she readjusted her bosom. Ron hoped the girl would calm down, and not tell anyone. It wasn't that he agreed to the accusation that he was gay, no one in his right mind would do that. It was his silence at the question posed that turned her against him.

But Ron had checked the schedule, and he was decently sure she wasn't to work for a week or so. Ron hoped she would be sane and pleasant by then. But just as he started to look on the brighter side, as soon as he started to have hope, Malfoy walked into to HIS bar, cool as you please, cold eyes darting over the counter, searching for a speck of dust, a smudge, anything to berate the barkeep with. When he didn't find anything, but looked up and met Ron's fuming eyes, a cruel grin spread across that sharp face so slowly it was like ice was melting and leaving a cold crevice behind.

Ron just hoped Malfoy would get a beer. He could feign like Malfoy was drunk, trip him or something, then lead him outside and beat the living snot out of the prick. Just as the sparks flying from Ron's eyes to Draco's were actually visible and the tension met a fevered pitch, the owner stepped in and took Ron to his office. Ron signaled a waiter over to take control, and walked away with a straight a back as possible. _I'm going to leave **nothing **for Malfoy to perceive as weakness. _

As soon as they got to the owner's office, Ron had relaxed. No Malfoy in sight meant things were looking up. It may have been a good thing Ron saw that prat's ugly mug; it really put things into perspective. As the owner asked Ron to take a seat in an unmistakable grave tone, Ron wondered how he could wipe that smug smirk off Malfoy's face for good. Maybe the old fashioned way, like with a 2 x 4 with nails protruding at the end. But where could he get one of those at such short notice…

The owner cleared his throat, pushed his glass up higher on the bridge of his nose, folded his hands, anything to get Ron's attention. When no physical movement worked, he resorted to what he had been dreading-

"Ronald. You know we love you here. The staff loves you, the customers love you, it's great." Ron smiled back, an offhand grin that meant nothing. "Thanks. I'm really glad it's working out so well, you know?"

"That's the thing Ron. It may not be working so well." As Ron gaped at what was said, the owner continued, voice growing higher and higher, "One of our other staff members said she left her purse here last night. She came back to get it, and she saw you doing…unmentionable things behind the bar."

"Oh," Ron answered, relieved. "No, that wasn't my fault. Another girl, I don't know her name, came by and completely forced herself on me. We didn't do anything, I swear. I put a stop to it right off the bat, as soon as she started kissing." The owner sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his tired, stinging eyes. He really hated to do this, but there was no choice… "That would have been fine, Ron. But don't lie to me. This girl says she saw you performing lewd acts…with another man."

Ron's jaw dropped. His eyes widened, and his heart started thumping. His mother's words, "It's such a horrible way of life to choose, Ron…" floated through the mist in his brain, and he felt like crying. He knew where this was going to lead. No matter what he said, no matter what he did, if he pulled a girl in a fucked her right on the table, the accusation would have been said. Everything had been set into motion. Ron still tried. Gasping, laughing, screaming at the same time, he yelled, "What! That's impossible! I would never- you can't believe- that's bullsh-"

The owner waved a hand and quieted Ron. "I can't have this, Ron. And for a while, we've been a little worried about you; I'm going to admit it. Oh, you flirted, but you never dated. There was never any talk of a girlfriend or someone special. But any way you look at it, we're going to have to let you go. Immediately." He got up from behind his desk, walking away to let Ron compose himself. Before he shut the door, he said to what might as well have been an empty room, "Oh, and move out by Friday." It was Thursday. But all Ron could think about were the lies. He hadn't had sex, he'd never even had sex, never even had a boyfriend. And no one had worried about him. They all thought he was some great playboy with the ladies, and he let them think that. There was never any worry on their part. He made a fist until his nails cut into his palms and he started bleeding. Staring at the blood, slowly creeping up his nails and tingeing his skin, Ron almost wished he were crying.

Draco had gone through a range of emotions that day as well. First, he was angry he woke up earlier than he usually did. It was no secret Draco was a night owl, and whenever he found himself awake before 1 in the afternoon he was a bit crabby. But he woke up for a good reason, which strengthened his resolve. And having a challenge in front of him always brought out a slightly wicked side of the Malfoy. And today's job was one of Draco's favorites- finding another handsome gay man to work for, and possibly under, him. Waking up in the bleak eleven o'clock sunshine, Draco could remember licking his lips, straightening his back, and giving a luscious wink to the man he found in his bed. He leaned in for a kiss, preparing to be exceptionally sensual today. The brown haired man smiled through the kiss, and when they broke apart a few seconds later, Draco whispered in his ear, "Be out of my bed and room before I return." Taking almost as much pleasure from the hurt, pained look on the young wizard's face as he did during their night of sex, Draco sauntered into the adjoining bathroom. When he returned, feeling fresh and even more sexual (if that was possible, of course) he was pleased to see no traces of the man around. The bed was made, there weren't any hairs or traces of semen around his room, everything looked as if he had spent a quiet night by himself.

The short walk to the Hogsmeade Inn was the perfect time for Draco to clear his head of old sex and replace it with thoughts of what could happen. A year or so ago, Draco had opened the first gay bar in Hogsmeade. Of course, no straight witches or wizards knew about it, but word traveled fast through the gay market. And there was an aura around the decimated farmhouse in the middle of nowhere that screamed to those passing by. Of course, the outside was the only thing that looked decimated at all. Inside was a pounding, living, breathing, gyrating bar. But for a few months now, Draco had lost a few customers to the Hogsmeade Inn, which should have been unheard of. Draco's bar was the only place he knew of that gave a sense of comfort and sensuality to the people who felt misplaced and judged by society. There was no reason for gay wizards to go to a straight edge pub with nothing to offer them but mediocre food and cheap beer. But he had heard, on several accounts, that the reason for the Inn's sudden popularity in the gay community was a new bartender.

Erin, one of Draco's best customers, had told him in confidence, "It's this bloke they hired for their bar. It's not like he's a raging homo, you know, like me or-" He was cut off by a sharp glare. No one told Draco Malfoy he was a raging anything. "Right, me or the other guys in here. But he's very good looking, you know. A good flirt too, thought he only does it with the girls. But you can tell his hearts not in it. And a few of the guys have sworn that the bloke has been checking them out when he thinks no one is looking. But there's no real evidence pointing to his being gay. I think that might be it. He's a mystery, a sexy, hot mystery." Erin sighed and looked out the window, just past Draco's ear. "I would love to feel him on top of me…"

As Draco approached the door to the Inn, he mentally checked his plans. "Right, find out if he's as good looking as they all say. If he's acceptable, figure out if he's gay. If he is, give him the job. If he isn't, turn him gay, then give him the job. If he's exceptional-" Draco tossed his hair, straightened his back, and put on his best seductive smile, "Make him my plaything." So of course when he did get to the bar, he was taken aback to see the youngest Weasley boy working.

This didn't please him at all. The bartender that everyone had been talking about, the guy that had Draco's bar abuzz with gossip was obviously not working. Draco would have to stand by and wait. Sitting down, making sure the bar was something he would allow his hands to touch, he looked up and saw Ron's enraged face.

Oh, happiness was. If he couldn't get laid, the next best way to pass Draco's time was to piss someone off. He stared back, letting a slow smile to creep over his face, one he had perfected over years of tormenting people who didn't even deserve to be looked at, didn't deserve to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe. Draco felt the familiar happiness settle into his blood as he and Ron fought with their eyes, as the air around them got hotter and hotter with Ron's anger. Draco had forgotten how absolutely fun it was to enrage Ron, how entertaining it was to watch that already ruddy skin redden, to watch his fists clench and unclench, to push Ron without even saying anything. Draco was sorely disappointed when the owner called Ron away before he had thrown something at Draco. Deciding he would come back at a later time, when the good looking one showed up for work, Draco breezed out of the bar. He didn't notice the stares of the customers; he was so used to them. But the patrons weren't staring at him because he was a Malfoy, or just because he was good looking (most of them, anyway,) but they were staring because Ron was always so calm, so happy, so nice. Somehow that man had flipped a switch inside Ron and the whole Inn felt it. Everyone was abuzz with excitement, wondering who that man was.

When Ron walked out, they all calmed down. They wanted to see what would happen, wanted to see if Ron would punch something now that the man was gone, or dance because of it. But Ron took the sudden drop-off of chatter to mean they were all talking about him, talking about his predicament, talking about his apparently being gay, and he stormed out, never wanting to set foot into the only thing that had given him happiness over the past months ever again. He walked, he ran, he fled from everything as fast as he could. And when he found a dark alley with no one looking at him, no one pitying him, he collapsed and cried until he was dry. He choked, he sobbed, he had snot dripping down his nose, tears streaming down his face, his lips chapping from all the salt. When he couldn't cry tears anymore he still tried, let the convulsions take over his body. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Ron cradled himself like he wished his mother would, even though he was an adult, even though he was alone, even though he was gay. He wanted to go home and be told everything would be all better, Ron wanted that kiss on the forehead and quick hug. But he was as likely to get that as he was to sprout wings and fly, to suddenly become Harry, to suddenly become happy. So he cried some more, cried until he fell asleep underneath a cardboard box.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

And uuhhh...review.

When Draco popped into the bar, far earlier than usual, he was assaulted by questions from Erin. "Well? Didn't I tell you? Did he take the job? Isn't he just dreamy? Don't you want to sink your teeth into-" Erin, accustomed to being cut off, fell silent as Draco raised his head. "He wasn't there. I'll have to go back later, maybe tonight."

"What do you mean, he wasn't there! He's always there! The boy has no social life!" Draco slammed a hand down, "It means what it means, he wasn't there." And Erin calmed down, as Draco continued on pushing a hand through his hair, "The only guy working was that moron Weasley." Without even meaning to, Draco's lips curled as he said "Not that it wasn't enjoyable seeing him. I'd forgotten how angry and stupid he is. Good to see old friends." Draco laughed, harsh, cutting, like broken glass. Erin pulled out a chair, sat down and said, "Weasley? Don't they all have pink hair or something, a medical anomaly?"

Draco chuckled and poured himself some gin. "They might as well be. Bright red hair, bright red skin, all gangly and underfed, it's a medical miracle how they've all survived." When he didn't hear Erin laugh, Draco turned to him. He was used to people agreeing with whatever he said. "What?"

"Er…Red hair, you say?" Erin was careful not to make eye contact with Draco. He was now in a possibly dangerous situation. He tried to choose not to speak any further, to not say anything else, but Draco's eyes boored into his and Erin spilled. "Red hair, thinnish, freckles?

"...That would be the one." He finished meekly, head turning down like a puppy waiting to get hit. After a few moments pause, Erin looked up to see a very thoughtful Draco. Knowing Draco wouldn't reveal anything if he was concious of it, Erin listened closely to the broken mumbling.

"Hmm…It'll be even harder to get him then…Won't if he's not…Maybe another boy? But what would he like…And would it even be worth it?" If Erin could see the machinations going on behind that cool exterior, the one he described to friends, family, anyone who would listen as being _so handsome_, he would have run screaming from the room. After a few minutes of palpable silence, Draco turned to Erin, motioned for the boy to get out of his chair, and sat down.

"Erin, we're going to have to take a different approach to this that usual." As Draco laid out his new plan, Erin's emotions spiked from curiosity to shock.

"You want ME to go get him? But, but you never, never let anyone else deal with this kind of thing-"

"Aren't you my partner, Erin? It's time we started sharing that responsibility. And besides, you should thank me for this. I'm giving you the okay to fuck him. Fuck him senseless. Fuck him until his brains fall out and he'll be unfit to work anywhere else." Erin turned scarlet and reminded Draco that if Ron wasn't gay, they wouldn't need to resort to 'turning him.' Draco waved the statement off, telling Erin to have as much fun with Ron as possible. It would be better to have sex, for the both of them.

As Erin walked out, he wondered what two people would benefit from his and Ron's sex, and Draco looked forward to having a Weasley working under him. It was one of the few times when Draco wasn't propelled by lust, but power. Draco cracked his hands, laughed aloud in an empty bar and popped out, to tend to more important matters. The poor weasel had no idea what rings of hell he was going to be put through for the rest his pathetic life.

Ron couldn't believe the hell he was going through now. He had fallen asleep, in an alleyway, tears barely dry on his face, and some asshole had decided it would be good fun to prod him in the back with a stick. Deciding to keep with the homeless and crazy mentality, Ron snarled what, with the language cleared up, wasn't really a sentence at all. But as he looked at the poor guy's face, open and clearly hurt by what he said, Ron reminded himself that the world wasn't out to get him. Just a few select people, a group of which this man wasn't a part. Mumbling apologies, Ron struggled to bring himself to a sitting position and stared into the darkness. More surprising than the rude awakening, more surprising than being fired, more surprising than seeing Malfoy for the first time in god knows how long, the man sat down.

"You're that bartender, right? The one at the Hogsmeade Inn?" Fighting to keep back the dry sobs, Ron closed his eyes so tightly they burned, and shook his head. "Nah," he croaked out, "Not anymore." He heard the sharp intake of breath, he felt the man's brow furrow. "What happened?" He asked quietly, lightly placing a hand on Ron's shoulder. And tired, just needing someone, anyone, anything, Ron found his body flying into this strange man's, found his head cradled next to the man's heart, as he gripped the light fabric separating his skin from Ron. Tears he thought were completely dried up ran again, and the next few moments were spent with Ron sobbing and the man stroking his hair, his neck, his back. When Ron was slightly more composed, he kept his head where it was and mumbled into fabric, "It's true, we're all fucking feminine pussies." The man's hand stopped it's calm, roving pat on Ron's shoulder, and he asked Ron to repeat wheat he had just said while bringing Ron's eyes up to meet his.

Deciding it was another perfect chance to ruin a great thing, Ron's eyes fell sideways and he said in a slightly louder voice, "I'm a pussy. I don't like 'em, so I'm turning into one." He felt the hand move and expected a slap across the face, expected to be pushed away and run from. But instead, the calmest, gentlest man Ron would ever meet pulled Ron back into his chest, and hummed as Ron cried some more.

Erin couldn't, absolutely couldn't fucking believe his luck. He didn't even have to pry, didn't have to ask probing questions about girlfriends, lovers, anything. The boy he had coveted as one of the to numbers on his list of "Guys I Would Totally Do" had just reveal himself to be of a different sexual orientation than normal and was holding onto Erin as if the world was going to fall away. Enjoying being the comforting one, Erin rocked Ron back and forth and hummed old lullabies to Ron until he heard the gentle exhale which could only signify sleep. Gathering the rest of Ron into his arms, Erin quietly apperated to his home above the var, tucked Ron in, and, deciding the call to his partner could wait, climbed into bed with the man whose life he was going to change for better and worse, all in one fail swoop.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron groaned as the sunlight shone through his thin eyelids. He couldn't remember the last time he was woken up by sunlight, his room at the inn faced west…oh. Ron sunk back into a bed nicer than any that he had ever been in before (Hogwarts beds were a huge step up from the one in his room at his parents house, but still- they were school issued) and pulled white linen over his eyes. He couldn't deal with this. He needed to focus on something less…painful. Something technical.

Ron's thoughts drifted back to last night, of which he could only remember a few moments without tears. An ally way, a man, a confession…Ron groaned again. Things could not get worse.

Looking down, Ron saw he still had his bartender's uniform on, a simple white shirt and slacks. "At least the guy didn't rape me," he thought grimly, before chastising himself for thinking badly about the only person who was nice enough to give a shit about him in almost a year. Maybe forever. Ron drifted to thinking about the people who he used to think mattered, should he write his parents and family to tell them he lost his job? No, they didn't seem to give a shit about him before, why would they now? But what about Harry, Hermione?

"Its not like they knew what was going on before, why let them in now?"

It didn't seem right that while he was thinking of all these depressing matters, he was the most comfortable he had been in a very, very long time.

Letting his muscles sink into the mattress, Ron refused to think more. He was simply going to let his body feel before it was too late and this wonderful bed was gone forever.

Drifting into a light sleep for a few more hours, Ron completely forgot to thank the man that had saved him. But it was all right. Erin knew that he would have a lot more time with Ron.

Getting up from the chair where he had been watching Ron since earlier that morning, Erin took the note he had written even earlier and placed it on the table next to the sleeping body and left the room, closing the door silently. Leaning against the heavy wood, he let his fingers play in the minute crevices and grooves of the old oak. He loved this door. He loved his bed. And now he was sharing it with someone he thought he might just be able to love as well.

Humming, Erin strolled into the kitchen to make some breakfast for two, something he always wanted to do.

In more comforting low light, Ron opened his eyes and turned over, not knowing what to expect. Yawning and stretching, he felt his limbs and muscles crack and pop in appreciation for room and movement, and as his hands made circles in the air Ron hit a small table next to the bed and pushed a small piece of paper over. Leaning over to grab it, he opened it and saw in wonderful calligraphy his name.

In an act of obliviousness that Ron was famous for, he didn't even stop to think about how this man knew his name, but simply opened the note and read.

_Ron;_

_Sorry there was no time to explain things last night. The apartment's small and I'm sure you'll be able to find the things you need, and if I'm not in it I'll be at work. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be back after six or seven. Please stay, I have some things to tell you that may cheer you up._

_Erin_

_P.S.- I made some lunch for you, it'll be on the table in the kitchen. If you're still hungry make whatever you want._

Not even wondering about what news this man Erin might have for him, Ron's thoughts turned to lunch.

When Erin apperated into the bar, Draco was already there, pristine as ever and angry as hell.

"Well?"

Trying to scuff his shoes on the enchanted floor (impervious to spills, messes, and any bodily fluid) Erin tried to turn the conversation on something he knew he could completely divert Draco's attention to—Draco.

"Your hair looks especially nice today." It wasn't that Erin didn't want to talk about Ron, but he didn't feel quite comfortable enough talking about him with Draco, not when he had that terrifying malicious glint in his eyes. Luckily, Draco took the bait.

Setting back his shoulders and straining to stand just a little bit higher, Draco ran a finger through his hair. It should look different; he had tried a different enchantment on it this morning. It wasn't often that Draco actually tried to improve his appearance, but perfection is a fluid thing and he liked to keep on top of it.

Erin silently let out some captured air as Draco prattled on about a new spell and how he wasn't sure about it but he did like the results.

A good thirty minutes later, when Draco noticed the distant look in Erin's eyes and the jerking motions his head was going trough to keep him awake, Draco was in a good enough mood to not curse Erin right there.

Instead, with a wonderfully frightening grin, Draco grabbed Erin's arm, nearly jerked it out of it's socket, and apperated right into Erin's cozy flat.

If Draco wasn't so shameless, he may have been embarrassed by his impact on Ron. But as it was, he reveled in the shattering glass, the stick thin, gangly, freckled anomaly standing there in a puddle of coffee and shattered clay with the most astounded look on his face.

Draco angled his head so his angular face caught the light, threw his head back, and proudly spat out one of his favorite insults.

"Ron." Draco had forgotten how those three letters formed on his tongue in a disgusting, mucus covered ball of wax, and how much he loved to chuck it at his least favorite person that was no where near worth it.

Feeling the color rising to his cheeks like it had failed to do for years, Ron simply glowered and whispered just loud enough for everyone present to hear, "Motherfucker."


End file.
